


Take a Sip, Meet the Overseer

by sal_amander



Series: His Grey Wings [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst With A Neutral Ending, Harry needs to practice good time management, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, MoD!Harry, Mutual Pining, Not Canon Compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-06 19:08:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20512016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sal_amander/pseuds/sal_amander
Summary: Saving Aziraphale from the guillotine wasn’t the best idea in hind sight. It wouldn’t have killed the angel, but...Well, Hell certainly wasn’t happy about it.Or: After a super messed up day, Crowley takes the offer of his lifetime. Almost literally.WARNINGS: Descriptions of not-so-easy-on-the-heart violence and aftermath of said.





	Take a Sip, Meet the Overseer

It had been a wonderful day, truly. 

He may not have had the best start, but ‘rescuing Aziraphale’ had been a snap- quite literally, really. It was the Angels fault for wearing something like that during the revolution that was going on, but ah, well. He’d gotten him to change into something less, well, obvious, at least.

It had been a while since they last saw each other, and Aziraphale looked positively giddy. A small part of Crowley thought it was adorable, but he pushed that thought down harshly. No use in thoughts like that, really.

Crowley’s lingering gaze on how Aziraphale’s smile quirked just so, betrayed him.

The mentioned angle and Crowley had just left the small street stall that they got their crêpes from, as Aziraphale insisted, and were walking down some road or another, he hadn’t been paying attention.

No, Crowley was far more focused on the nagging in the back of his mind- the one that lets him know Hell was calling. 

And when Hell was calling, well, he couldn’t ignore it for long.

Crowley turned towards the other with a slight grimnance. “Angel, you’ll be fine on your own now, then?”

Aziraphale frowned. “Wh- you’re leaving already?” Crowley noticed the Angel’s hands seemed to clamp around the paper wrappings of the crêpe harshly, though they loosened at his own nodding.

“Mmh, yeah. They uh,” Crowley gestured downwards vaguely, but Aziraphale got the picture immediately. “They want, well, something.”

Shifting on his feet, Aziraphale hummed, looking past Crowley and into the streets past them. He seemed to be thinking about something, but shook his head and turned to Crowley again.

“Oh, very well. I just,” the paper crinkled slightly under his hands. “Well, I don’t see you that often, Crowley.”

Oh, Aziraphale looked like a kicked puppy. 

Crowley reached out, but hesitated, and moved his hand from the air almost near Aziraphale’s cheek, to the angel’s shoulder. “Well- I’ll owe you one, then. Angel- I’ll take you anywhere you want to eat, cash it in whenever?”

Aziraphale looked down at Crowley’s hand, and back up at the demon, furrowing his brows. “I-” he twirled the crêpe in his hands carefully. “Oh, very well, dear. I…”

He looked down at the crêpe, mumbling a quiet “be back soon?”

Crowley sighed, and gave Aziraphale a small smile. “O’course, Angel. When and where?”

The angel thought for a moment, before turning back up to Crowley with a grin and what seemed to be the sun sparkling in his eyes. “What about that one clearing down in Greece, where-” 

He cut himself off abruptly, and Crowley chuckled lightly. “Oh, I remember that, Angel. Sure, does two days from now, mid-day sound good?”

“It sounds perfect.”

The two stood silently for a moment, as the afternoon rays peeked through the buildings. They hadn’t gotten much time together at all, recently, and one had to leave already. It wasn’t fair, really. 

And of course, as it does to ruin moments like these, it started to rain. Heavily.

Crowley cursed under his breath, and looped his arm around Aziraphale’s to pull him under the edge of a shop’s roof, not seeing how his face flushed at the action.

He slipped his tinted glasses off to dry them, not looking up. “You alright angel? Didn’t get too-”

“You shouldn’t wear those glasses all the time, dear. Your eyes are beautiful.” 

Crowley dropped his glasses, staring at the angel.

Aziraphale blinked, and flushed a tad darker, looking away. “Um! I mean-”

A blush slowly crept up Crowley’s neck. “I- ah, um-” he bent down to pick up his glasses, hastily shoving them on his face. “I- I gotta go, lo- fuck, angel- um, bye!”

He sped off into the rain, down the street, and turned into an ally. By the time Aziraphale caught up to where Crowley had been, he was gone.

Aziraphale frowned, looking down slightly, when he noticed a black feather on the ground. Immediately, he recognised it as one of Crowleys.

He picked it up twirling it in his fingers, humming quietly. “He… probably wouldn’t want one of these floating around for humans to find… I’ll give it back to him later...” he mumbled quietly, frowning as he looked down the empty ally. He put it in his pocket, and hurried down the street.

\---

“Crowley. Finally. You’re late.”

Crowly was standing awkwardly in a somewhat empty room, with a large window in the back- whatever room it led to was full with demons. It was a large room, and had a throne in the center- in it, sat the Prince of Hell, Beelzebub. Surrounding him were a few other demons Crowley probably knew but didn’t care enough to recall their names.

It was their courtroom. Why he had been brought here, he didn’t know.

He winced. “I- well I was caught up. In the middle of…” he waved his hands a bit, “evil... stuff.”

The room was silent, staring at him without any change in expression.

After a moment Beelzebub spoke up, with their droning voice. “Demon Crowley, do you know why you’re here.”

It wasn’t framed in a questioning tone, as if they knew exactly what they meant, and what they meant was bad news for him.

And it did.

He raised his shoulders a bit. “Not… really? No.”

Beelzebubs face grew sour, or more sour than it had been a moment ago, at least. “You are being tried for treason- fraternizing with an Angel, of all things. How do you plead?”

Crowley’s face scrunched, and he turned his head lower. 

He turned up quickly, shoulders shaking. “Listen- I can- I can explain-”

Beelzebub glowered. “Guilty!” They announced, and two demons grabbed Crowley’s shoulders roughly.

“Listen- Please!-” a hand was clapped over his mouth, and his pleads were muffled- and turned to muffled screams as he struggled to try and get them to let go.

“Hastur! Bring it in.”

Crowley’s eyes widened at what the demon brought in, and he started thrashing and screaming under the demons’ hands.

It was a cup of holy water.

Just the cup- but that was more than enough to off any demon.

Beelzebub turned to him. “It took a lot to get our hands on this, but I think it’s fitting,” they turned to Hastur, “go ahead.”

One of the demons holding him, with thick rubber gloves, pried his jaw open, and Crowley screamed.

The holy water was poured down his throat- and Crowley burned, and bent over on his knees coughing. Blood splattered on the floor, and the demons scrambled away from the holy water infused liquid.

Crowley couldn’t yell as his body boiled from the inside out. All he could do was turn to stare up defiantly at Beelzebub as he went.

Moments later, there was a mess of blood, holy water, and black feathers.

\---

Harry sat up quickly, blinking. He pulled off the glasses he fell asleep in and rubbed at his eyes. Slipping the glasses on, he looked around. He fell asleep at his desk again, and he had an awkward crick in his neck from the way he had been sleeping. A wave of his hand, and it was gone. 

Being the operator of the multiverse had its perks- like the access to whatever trick or ability that existed.

A small beeping set him off, and he nearly fell out of his chair. A sort of glowing doorknob had appeared right beside him, and was beeping a flashing red.

“Um- pardon? What the fuck?”

A lable popped up beside it helpfully, thank god. He hadn’t read all the manuels and encyclopedias that came with the job just yet.

“Death had occured at the wrong time. Interview or Send Back?”

Harry blinked, cocking his head. Ah, he remembered now- he read something like this in one of the books. It was a doorway that lead to a lobby to the souls that died too soon for their universe. It was extremely rare, but it did happen.

He chewed his lip anxiously, looking around the empty office, with no doors in sight, except for a screen with a typing bar.

He hadn’t talked to someone in ages, and he wanted to help out whoever died like… that. 

They could wait a bit though, he mused, picking up a manuel from the wall. He needed to figure out the options he could offer to this person. Technically, he could make some up, but it would cost him in the end if he did something wrong.

“Lets see.. Manuel on What to do if Someone Dies too Early.” Harry flipped to the correct pages and began reading, leaning back onto his chair. It was a soft armchair, and plush, too. A blanket appeared next to him, as well as some hot coco, which he smiled at.

He glanced at the doorknob and hummed. Hopefully, the accommodations were alright in there for a bit. He frowned, concentrating on the knob until a ping went off in his head. Something was sent to the person in there.

He curled up with the blanket, coco, and manuel, and got to studying.

\---

Two days later, somewhere in Greece, an angel sat, waiting for his friend. 

He waited from day, to night, to day again.

He waited the rest of the week under a tree in Greece, smile fading more and more at each day that passed.

“I guess…” he said quietly, on the last day. “He didn’t-”

He bit his lip to cut himself off, and twirled the black feather in his hand. He frowned, blinking tears out of his eyes, and shoved the feather into his pocket, turning to go to the one pub that had nice live music and an absolutely wonderful wine.

One that would get him hammered after the first few bottles.

Crowley- he didn’t- he didn’t matter that much, anyway. 

\---

Crowley had been in this room for a while now.

At first, he panicked, grabbing his throat and scratching into it, clawing at the phantom feeling of the holy water. He had backed himself into a corner of the empty, off-white room, hyperventilating and wings thrashing as he shook.

What his internal clock said was a day later, he had calmed down, and saw some items in the room that weren’t there when he first entered.

A couch, a blanket, and a table with a mug of coco on it. He didn’t touch the coco, despising the thought of anything going down his throat after…

Crowley winced and grabbed his arms, turning to examine the walls.

He banged hard on a few, even his demonic strength not leaving a chip in the paint. He scratched and kicked at corners, trying to find a way out.

He only succeeded in tiring himself out.

He sighed, wiping somewhat bloody hands on his pants, and glanced back at the couch. He fell onto it with the blanket, and lied down, wings curling awkwardly under the blanket. His head and arms hung off the armrest, and he stared at the floor quietly.

He didn’t know where he was- but he knows he shouldn’t be here.

He should be dead.

He gingerly grabbed at his throat and rubbed at it, wincing at the scratch marks he put there in his panic. He grit his teeth at the memory of holy water burning down his throat.

Crowley flipped over on the couch, wings spreading awkwardly so he could lie on his back. One went up over the back, and the other down to the floor. He watched the flickering lights on the ceiling, frowning.

Once he finished shuffling on the couch, the room fell silent.

The room remained silent.

It could have been minutes, days, maybe even years, he remained like this. He caught himself in some sort of pseudo-trance. With everything that had just happened to him, he felt vaguely that it was understandable of himself to go into this sort of dissociative state, and- oh.

Aziraphale. He had probably missed the meeting- oh he felt terrible.

The thought of his angel waiting alone, only for him to never show up- to seemingly ditch him… 

It made Crowley’s spine crawl awkwardly, and his wings puffed their feathers in shame and curled as close to him as they could get. He had to get out of wherever he was- tell Aziraphale that he didn’t mean to miss their- their outing. He’d plead, and…

His thoughts trailed off quietly, staring at the midnight feathers just under his chin.

A creek sounded through the room, and Crowley sat up with a snap, blanket thrown off him.

A door opening- a door that hadn’t been there before- and a man.

Crowley flew across the room with a growl, pinning the person against the wall by their throat. “What did you lot do to me?!”

It was a hiss, hardly even understandable english, but it got his furious point across.

“O-oh dear, um- pardon?” The man blinked owlishly, shivering against the wall. Suddenly, he appeared away from Crowley and behind him, with some sort of long cane he pushed towards the demon. 

It looked like a feeble attempt to be intimidating, but when Crowley walked forwards, the end of the pole-cane-thing lit up and zapped him. It didn’t hurt, but it kept him away- so functional.

“My lot? I’m afraid you’ve been mistaken- I haven’t had a work partner in, well…” The man tapped his foot frustratedly, still keeping an eye on the demon. “A while.”

Crowley sneered, and the man backed up again. “O-oh goodness please don’t. You um, must be confused- you died, right?”

He paused, sneer lowering but not going away. “I would fucking think so, why?”

The man nodded to himself. “Ok- yeah. I’m the person people go to if they die, uh, not right? Like, you died way, way too early.”

Crowley stopped there. “I- what?”

“Like,” the man waved his hands about. “You shouldn’t have died, so you get a choice?”

The demon was quiet. Contemplative. 

“What are they?”

The man smiled. “Well, one, you go to your respective afterlife. You seem to be unable to go to your Universe’s, so you’ll go to what I call ‘General Admission’- uh, it takes from anywhere in any multiverse.”

Crowley frowned, and the man nodded. “I thought so. The second option is a bit… complicated. You’ll join me in my line of work- we call them ‘Balancers.’ We just um, keep things functioning in existence. You can go back to your- um, where you died? And hang out there mostly. I’ll call you if you need me, and you’re free in headquarters, a pocket dimension that’s pretty cool… You’ll mainly be off duty, but on call?”

The demon made a face. “What, like some sort of guard?”

“I mean, sorta? But more cool.”

The demon nodded, and watched as the man stuck out his hand. “Shake on it? Seems overdone, don’t you think?”

The man stuck his tung out, and Crowley sighed, shaking the offered hand.

Immediately after, he felt a prickly sensation in his wings and yelped, turning to see them. He caught a glimpse of the last of his black feathers turn to a medium grey.

“Wh-“

“Oh!” The man gasped. “I forgot to mention! You aren’t really a demon anymore- that’s what you were, right?”

Crowley nodded, confused.

“Well, now you’re one of mine. So, grey. Like in between? Everyone’ll get grey wings if they join me. You already had wings, so...”

The not-demon looked back at the man flustered and somewhat confused. “I-wha- where are yours, then?”

The man smiled, and suddenly, there were four pairs of silvery wings on his back, seemingly gleaming in the light. They disappeared just as quickly. 

“They’re kinda difficult to move around with, so...”

Crowley choked. He wouldn’t be complaining about his wings getting in the way ever again. “Right. Well, if im going to be working for you… name?”

The man’s face turned distraught. “Oh! Oh dear, I forgot to introduce myself. Im Harry Potter, nice to meet you…?”

“Aren’t you, uh, omni-something with your job?”

Harry shrugged. “I thought I’d be polite.”

Crowley shrugged. “Anthony J. Crowley.”

Harry snickered. “What made you pick ‘Janthony’ as a middle name, anyway?”

Crowley made a face. “Shut up.”

—-

Somewhere on earth, Aziraphale jumped, feeling warmth in one of his pockets. 

Crowley’s feather.

He pulled it out, and blinked in surprise at the color.

Grey.


End file.
